


In Omnia Paratus

by KillerQueen20



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Declarations Of Love, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Inspired by Real Events, Love Confessions, M/M, Memories, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Quarantine, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Tags May Change, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerQueen20/pseuds/KillerQueen20
Summary: Anthony J. Crowley was cursing himself and life itself as he saw how a wonderful time for an extended vacation became a reason for seclusion.He regretted his misfortune until he heard a voice from the opposite balcony ... And millions of unknown memories flooded into his mind.Or also know as how two strangers fell in love during quarantine.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	1. 🞛 Prologue 🞛

Anthony J. Crowley was cursing himself and life itself.

He cursed life, destiny, his apartment, the weather, his plants that only seemed to wilt more and more every day, but mainly, he cursed loudly that damn quarantine that had only passed a few hours and it had already driven him crazy

Apparently, his good luck had gone on vacation and had left him forlorn in the face of life's vicissitudes and its strange ways of flow.

He saw how a wonderful time for an extended vacation became a reason for seclusion, which for him was synonymous with boredom and totally opposite of all he was.

Although with his disobedient personality and that rebellion inherent in him from an early age he could ignore any given order, preferred to be prudent as he had rarely been in his life and stay in his apartment drinking all the alcohol that he could find while watching the news and insulted in a low voice everything he considered guilty of his personal tragedy and unfortunate fate.

 _"All because of a damn virus that no one can control,"_ he thought simply bitterly as he took another sip of his wine glass, a Cabernet Sauvignon, a gift from an eccentric client, delighted by his gardening work.

Because a man as extroverted and sociable as Anthony J. Crowley considered as a tragedy the fact of not being able to go out to any bar or parties to relax and why not? Maybe also look for some flirt or a one-night stand couple.

That was all part of his nature and the nature of the self cannot be stopped, is it?

He only left his selfish musings when he felt himself already stumbling across the room and he felt a headache.

He put the bottle of wine on his desk, without bothering to put it in its place and headed towards his room with that movement of the hips so characteristic of him, ready to carry out the only activity that would not kill him of boredom during that long confinement that he saw ahead: Sleep.

Still making his way to his quarters he saw his balcony window open and after clicking his tongue as he always did in moments of frustration, he strode to shut it ... Before the magic will begin.

Along with a breath of air, it came perfectly mixed with the atmosphere, the sound of a mellifluous melody that he recognized instantly.

 _“La bohème by Puccini”_ he recalled, remembering all the occasions in which he had gone to see that four-acts opera, although he used opted for comedies, he didn't like drama, he had simply spent the drama quota to a lifetime.

He looked for the place where that delightful sound came from and focused his gaze on the balcony that was right in front of his also with the windows open and where the owner of that voice continued humming that melody, oblivious to the rest.

And like in those rom-coms that he watched secretly, his entire world seemed to have found the solution to all his problems when the owner of that mysterious voice made his appearance on the balcony without noticing the presence of the enraptured neighbor who watched him without can or want to take his eyes off him.

A warm little-known sensation pierced his heart like a sharp weapon, inflicting no mortal injury on him and causing a small tickle to run all over his body as if he had found something he had missing ago lost but didn't know he had lost.

Millions of unknown memories flooded into his mind to which he found no explanation.

Memories of ancient times, of gardens, of fire, of angels and demons. where blue eyes like sapphires and friendly smiles were the protagonists of these abstract reminiscences.

Almost as if it were the destiny that they found on those balconies, with the silent and empty street as a witness, there was a strange energy that didn't let the redhead leave but made his wishes to stay there become more evident.

"Aziraphale!" He yelled out without knowing why, filling the silent streets with the echo of a clamor that hoped to be enough to be heard by the other one.

And the mysterious man turned around.

And the world stopped spinning around.


	2. 🞇 Meet me at the balcony 🞇

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What he doesn't know yet, is that he was already completely helpless.

Without giving a fuck of rationality or good sense, without caring about the strangeness of the blonde's face or the confusion that was shown in those blue orbs that brought him lots of unexplored memories, the redhead just throws an atypical nervous smile before lashing the window of his balcony and flee tripping over with little dignity.

As soon as he got to his room, he dropped onto his bed as an intense headache reminded him that he was still drunk but now mixed with a jumble of memories that he found no explication.

 _"What the hell was that?"_ He asked himself with a last straw of consciousness before drowsiness made him fall into the deepest stage of sleep.

[…]

_He looks for something desperately, something he doesn't know what it is but is too important to disappear among the burning flames and the scorching heat of a fire._

_He feels the fear running through his veins until it becomes panic and his heartbeats against his chest in an almost superhuman way as he begins to throw pitiful sobs into the void._

_"Aziraphale, Aziraphale!" He shouts almost to the beat of the flames and the paper fluttering almost with mocking parsimony in the catastrophe. "Aziraphale!" He shouts again, refusing to let his worn-out hope die._

_Finally, he falls to his knees on the ground when he realizes that what he loved most has been taken by the fire. He feels his voice break by the lump that has formed in his throat, and although he does not admit it, bitter tears are running down his cheeks._

_"Someone has killed my best friend!" he cried with his will broken into a million pieces, knowing that in that heartbreaking phrase there is a hidden truth, Aziraphale was not his friend, he was his... Everything._

_"Bastards, you bastards all!" He yells into nothing but cursing everything. More sobs escape from his throat with mournful suffering._

_He has lost everything, shattered into ashes._

_“Aziraphale!”_

That last painful plea awakens him from that overwhelming nightmare that looked like a distant memory.

He tries to calm his ragged breathing as he clings to his sheets in an attempt to stay grounded in reality.

He runs a hand over his face and realizes that he was sweat-drenched as if he had actually been in a fire although he knows that this is only the part of his nightmares.

When he finally feels enough strength to move his legs, he gets out of bed and moves almost like an automaton into his living room. He glimpses through the window of his balcony that that unusual encounter with his neighbor, the blond stranger, who is reading, oblivious to any movement other than the passing of the pages of his book.

"Aziraphale," he whispers, and that name feels so sweet and familiar in his lips as if he's meant to say that word from the moment he was born. "You seem to be quite a riddle," he murmurs, fascinated, like someone who finds a mystery worth solving, however difficult it may seem.

And what a coincidence! Crowley has never said no to a challenge.

[…]

He spent the whole morning looking at nothing, thinking about how to get to know more about the enigmatic blue-eyed man from whom he only knew his name.

When he was about to hit his head for some inspiration, an idea came to him that would have sounded ridiculous on some other occasion but, with boredom at its peak, seemed like the best idea ever conceived.

Tearing a sheet of paper from an old notebook, he made with professional accuracy a paper airplane and when he considered that his work was already done, he launched it, delighting for his accurate aim when the paper toy fell on the opposite balcony.

From that moment, any sheet of paper becomes the perfect tool for that amok plan that sounds more like a childish prank.

It only takes about thirty minutes for the blue-eyed blonde's balcony to be already flooded by several paper planes, so he launches one last plane and apparently that one was lucky, because it collides against the balcony window, calling the attention of his neighbor.

His neighbor's reaction was to suddenly drop the book he was holding while gasping in amazement, after all, it's not usual to find your balcony full of multiple paper planes.

He bends down and takes one of the several paper planes that surround him and after adjusting the reading glasses he was wearing; he reads the message that seems to be written between its folds.

_"Meet me at the balcony"_

It's not until that moment that he directs his eyes to the front and sees his neighbor with dark glasses watching him expectantly from his own balcony.

Crowley, meanwhile, just looks flabbergasted as his plan appears to have worked and a mischievous smile forms on the redhead's lips upon knowing his goal accomplished.

"Hi." Crowley greets him with unusual nervousness and the blonde waves his hand in greeting.

At that moment, Crowley forgets how to introduce himself or if he should apologize for yesterday's hit-and-run encounter, so he decides to improvise.

"Nice glasses," he says. _"Are you an idiot, Crowley?!"_ He mentally chides himself and runs a frustrated hand down his face, blaming himself for his clumsiness.

Aziraphale just laughs and it's at that moment that Crowley can see his neighbor in detail, those blue eyes that didn't envy at all the most shining jewels, his reading glasses that fell gracefully through his nose, the blond hair that seemed to shine under the sun, that mouth that to his lustful side seemed too kissable, or his laugh, as smooth as silk that seemed to combine with the singing of the birds around him.

He just looked like an angel.

"My name is Crowley, and it seems we are balcony neighbors." He said with renewed confidence that Aziraphale laughter seemed to have injected into him.

"My name is Aziraphale." he introduces himself with such solemnity that he seems to be a gentleman of ancient times (and actually he does, with that anachronistic way of dressing that made him look like the last century but that, somehow, managed to fit perfectly to the 21st century) "But that's something that, apparently, you already knew."

Crowley tenses immediately, not knowing how to react to that correct accusation.

"How do you know my name?" The blond asked with a small curious smile.

Crowley just bit his lip without daring to answer the question. How to reply to a question to which even he couldn't find an answer? He smiled at him instead in an attempt at tense coquetry as he pressed his hands against the railing of his balcony, trying to control his agitation. "I have my methods." Was what he answered vaguely.

The blue-eyed only laughed, apparently, without fully believing the redhead's response.

"It looks like I'll be locked up here for a while, and you seemed like a very interesting person to talk to," he whispers to him in gallantry, but everything is thwarted by another small laugh from Aziraphale.

"Oh! Me being interesting...” he says, unable to believe it.

"I don't know why you doubt it, you really are." and unlike other times he's flirted, for the first time he's being honest.

Another laugh of Aziraphale, along with a shy smile and everything Crowley knows is no longer his because now everything belongs to Aziraphale, just like that, with a simple smile.

Because to him, that smile has completely caught him. That has now made Aziraphale more intriguing before his eyes.

What he doesn't know yet, is that he was already completely helpless.


	3. 🞇 We might fall 🞇

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe one will look on down and tell us who we are."
> 
> "Did you say something, dear?" 
> 
> "Nothing, I didn't say anything... Angel."

Although he had to admit that he felt like a teenager doing childish pranks instead of a full-fledged adult, that didn't stop him, along with some giggles, from flying another paper plane, with a brief invitation written among its folds:

Meet me at the balcony at 8:00.

 _"It's a date"_ He wanted to add as well, but something stuck in his soul, something that seemed to warn him not to go too fast.

[…]

When the afternoon had passed and the rays of the sun had disappeared to make way to the faint glow of the moon, Crowley took a bottle of wine from his personal wine cellar, as well as two empty glasses and headed towards his balcony. When he got in, a fresh night breeze hit his face and he closed his eyes, delighting with the sensation and when he finally opened his eyes he couldn't drown the small gasp he gave when he saw the scene of the outside.

The bluing color of dusk covered completely the sky, and a plethora of stars glimmered intermittently spread across the entire night plane. He allowed himself a glimpse of how wonderful the stars made the night shine as a smile adorned his face and he gave little childish laughs with reverie.

"Crowley..." a voice called him, making him look back at the blonde who was looking at him with tenderness, which only made his heartbeat fastest-growing.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley exclaimed in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the bashfulness that Aziraphale was able to make him feel with a glance of his. "I admired the brightness of the stars, but then I looked into your eyes and they turned pale with envy."

It was the faint glow of the moon that reveal the subtle blush of Aziraphale, who considered the comments of Crowley as jokes and that there were no ulterior motives with each flirtatious phrase that he said at him.

"Crowley, so fond of joking as always." It was the only thing he managed to say while smiling indulgently at the redhead.

Crowley said nothing, just removed the dark glasses he always wore, showing Aziraphale for the first time those golden eyes of which he was the owner.

Aziraphale gasped with surprise as a gelid, sharp sensation clenched tightly against his chest, leaving him breathless as reminiscences of his outlandish dreams came to his mind where amber eyes were the protagonists.

He looked down, overwhelmed. "You have beautiful eyes, Crowley." That was the truth, but the muffled tone in which he said it was what raised suspicions of his neighbor.

The redhead leaned down to meet his gaze. "Are you okay, Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale raised her face to him again and the way he looked at him, filled with concern, made his heart fill with a joy he couldn't explain. "I'm fine, Crowley." And while that didn't end by reassuring the redhead, at least it sounded more convincing than before.

"Alright." Crowley ended up saying, but giving him a look that seemed to say that they would talk about that later. Aziraphale just smirked. "And... What are you reading? It's fun?" He asked, changing the subject quickly, and until then Aziraphale remembered the book in his hands.

"Romeo and Juliet." He said, holding up the book proudly and showing the cover to his neighbor.

Crowley gnashed his teeth as he read the title of the book "Ugh, too tragic for my liking." He complained with a snort.

"I never thought..." Aziraphale was about to say something but was grateful that his mind was faster than his tongue, so he stopped.

"That someone like me read Shakespeare." Crowley finished with a mocking smile. Instead of being offended, he was amused by the trouble Aziraphale had in concealing his rebellious appearance with the one of a reader of classic books. Aziraphale only blushed in embarrassment.

"Do you like novels?" Aziraphale asked to dilute the silence that had formed, though curiosity was latent in his voice.

"Yes of course."

" _Romance_ novels?" He questioned again, stressing the word "Romance" mockingly.

Crowley dramatically put his hand to his chest. "It offends me that you think not." And that was enough for both of them to fill the silent street with laughter.

"I'm a hopeless romantic, actually," Crowley confessed when their laughter fell silent.

"Well, that makes two of us," Aziraphale added sympathetically. "It's curious. I'm surprised that you like them. I thought you wouldn't have the patience for romances."

For some reason, Crowley felt his smile freeze and his body tighten. It took him a few seconds to come up with an answer. "The romances of others seem pretty to me if they are well thought out."

"And not own romances?" Aziraphale asked, as boldly as he realized seconds later.

It took Crowley a little longer to try to craft an answer. "I just ask for a happy ending," he muttered absently, oblivious to Aziraphale's gaze. "I want stories with a happy ending."

Something in his expression made Aziraphale's throat lump. He had to swallow to ease the sensation.

"Do not worry. I don't like tragic endings either."

That seemed to cheer Crowley because he gave him a smile that retained some embers of nostalgia but that made his eyes shine and that was enough to calm him. "Too much drama for one night." He said trying to lighten the mood. "Fancy a glass of wine?" He asked, showing the two glasses and the bottle in his hand,

Aziraphale seemed to keep at least some of his modesty before answering, "Yes, if not too much trouble."

Crowley poured the liquid into one of the glasses and passed it to the blonde with ease as there was a very short separation between the two balconies. Aziraphale thanked him with a smile.

"Before to start drinking, I want to propose a toast," he said after filling his glass with the red liquid. "A toast to the world and this strange situation, because thanks to that I have known you! To the world!" He exclaimed, raising his glass with enthusiasm.

"To the world! Aziraphale said in the same way, clashing his glass with that of the redhead with a smile twitching his lips.

After more than an hour drinking and talking about trifles, both sat on the floor of their balconies, leaning against the balusters of these, and although they turned their backs, that made them feel even more connected than before.

As silence fell between the two, Crowley looked up at the night sky and was abstracted seeing the clink of the stars that made him recall times past.

The stars shone brightly that the busy city life didn't allow them to appreciate as it did at that time, without a single artificial light that crushed the beauty of that moment and with a comforting silence submerging the street in a moment of serenity that hardly it would repeat itself in the future, which made it seem like the beating of their hearts was the only sound that could be heard.

Crowley giggled as he looked up at the sky and let his eyes marvel at such a spectacle the stars seemed to be dancing on them.

"Maybe one will look on down and tell us who we are." He murmured under his breath, not remembering that the absence of the city's hubbub made even the most silent sound be heard by outsiders.

"Did you say something, dear?" Aziraphale asked, drowsy enough and distracted by the night show to turn his full attention to his amateur astronomy partner.

"Nothing, I didn't say anything... Angel."

The mere mention of that word was enough for a revolution to begin within him. Streams of memories coursed through his mind, as if waking from a prolonged slumber to settle in his mind for a fleeting moment, before fading into the mists of ignorance.

Almost like a call from nature, without bothering to change his posture or the ailment he felt doing it, he stretched his arm through the balusters of his balcony and as if it were fate, Aziraphale did the same from the opposite balcony, making the tips of his fingers touch something similar to nonsense.

The street that separated the two balconies was narrow enough to be considered an alley, it was still spaced enough that only the tips of his fingers could touch.

So, as if it were a moral obligation, Crowley made a great effort so that his thin arm could pass between the balusters of the balcony and he takes the blonde's hand, shaking it firmly and remembering and touching that he ever felt and that now only the most unfathomable of his remembrances could remember.

A touch of hands that only the brightness of the night stars witnessed that evening, while Aziraphale began to narrate to Sotto Voce that famous Shakespearean tragedy that he held in his hands:

_…And when I shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun._


	4. 🞇 Let there be light 🞇

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At that time, it seemed that the omnipotence had said: _"Let there be light."_
> 
> So it was.

Apparently, it just needed an obligatory confinement and some boredom for two souls as dissimilar as Crowley and Aziraphale to get together and enjoy those moments where they only saw life pass before their eyes and talked from the trifling topics to the deepest and most interesting.

Every day, at the same hour, both went out to their balconies and after exhausting the conversation with all the topics of the day, Crowley hummed songs of Queen in a low voice and Aziraphale sat down and from his balcony narrated any book he had in his hands and wanted to share with the redhead in front of him.

Ever since Crowley told him to stop talking about the works of Oscar Wilde because for some reason he always felt an uncomfortable feeling of heaviness when talking about the author, Aziraphale had revealed his predilection for Shakespearean works, although his favorite work, as simple as it sounded, was Romeo and Juliet, so, no matter how much he and his neighbor probably already knew that story by heart, he spent hours on his balcony reading aloud the tragedy of lovers, all under the watchful redhead's look.

What Aziraphale didn't know was that Crowley didn't really pay attention to him or his stories, because, simply, the redhead only dreamed, thinking about the story of the lovers of Verona and changing the protagonists, where he became in Romeo, feeling able to sneak up onto Aziraphale's balcony and amid promises of love, kiss him on his lips.

But those were just the silly fantasies of a fool dreamer, right? Although he couldn't blame himself, after all, it almost seemed that this writer who had been dead more than three centuries ago had inspired on him and Aziraphale to write one of his most famous works.

But it was all just coincidences.

However, deep down, he thought that coincidences were the way God played with the universe.

[…]

As a matter of fact, the true moments of stillness were found during the night, when both sat on their balconies and admired the stars, forming a peaceful silence among them that, instead of being uncomfortable, for them was an extension of their conversations, where through looks and gestures, they managed to express everything they felt without the need of words.

So it was that those stars that adorned the night sky became witnesses of that silent courtship because that was it: a courtship. One where neither of the two involved seemed to have noticed but that was obvious, both from the intense glances of the redhead who approached something similar to adoration and from the smiles that the blonde directed at his neighbor whose only intention was to cling strongly in the redhead's heart.

"Someday I'll take you to Alpha Centauri," he said to Aziraphale one of those several nights, where unfamiliar words sprouted from his memory that he couldn't make sense of but seemed quite nested in his spirit.

"And what's so special about Alpha Centauri?" The blond questioned in a rustle.

Crowley straightened and turned his face to Aziraphale so abruptly that the librarian feared that he had been injured.

"What's so special?! Crowley exclaimed with a touch of outrage in his voice. "It's very special! Azira..."

The way Crowley said his name produced millions of sensations that ran through Aziraphale from head to toe, sensations that he couldn't explain or look for a word that would define them, it was almost… ineffable.

The only diagnosis he could attribute to Crowley's effect on him was infatuation, and he couldn't fall in love with someone he had known just a few weeks ago, wasn't he? Although sometimes he could swear that he seemed to know the redhead for much more than a couple of weeks as if he had known him for centuries, or in another life, and his fate was to meet him in every universe.

 _"It's better to forget about these crazy thoughts."_ He thought, shaking his head effusively, trying to erase the bizarre musings that appeared in his mind and better-paying attention to the redhead, who seemed to give his body and soul in his explanation of the stars and space.

"Alpha Centauri is the closest star system to the Sun," Crowley explained with an air of fascination. "And it's at..." He took a moment to recap, "about 4.37 light-years away."

There was something about Crowley that made Aziraphale tender, his gaze, his passion, the rapture with which he spoke about the stars, who, despite dedicating himself professionally to gardening, was so knowledgeable about astronomy that he seemed to have known the stars since the moment they were created.

"Actually, Alpha Centauri is not one star, they are two!" Crowley said as he alternated his gaze between the clinking stars in the sky and the blonde in front of him, who seemed to glow his own that dull the stars above them. "Those two stars are so close together that formerly people said it was one, when in fact they are two."

"Why, dear?" Aziraphale questioned after taking a sip from the glass of wine he had brought to taste with Crowley.

"Because they are so united and bright that their light seemed to be one." He said with such dazzle that it made him look like he had found the best-kept secret in the universe.

"Oh, wow, that's so..." he wanted to say "Romantic" but for some reason, that word seemed to have got stuck in his throat "...fascinating."

He couldn't say anything else, because, at the whim of a supernatural force, the rain began to fall on them.

 _"How strange, there was no cloud in the sky."_ Crowley thought, looking up and watching the drops of water fall inchmeal on the ground.

"I have to go, dear," Aziraphale said as he tried to cover himself with his jacket in an attempt to shield himself from the rain. "See you." He said goodbye before disappearing into his apartment, letting a shattering feeling of melancholy overwhelm him completely.

"See you ... angel." He whispered into nowhere when Aziraphale was already out of his sight.

And with that word and the intense rain that fell on his head, came the revelation that, without knowing it, he had waited for a long time.

A kind of sensation comes to him that is born in his chest and runs through his body until finally reaching his stomach and exploding into hundreds of butterflies. A kind of vertigo comes to him, accompanied by an accumulation of memories that adhere one by one to his mind until he can finally find an explanation, memories where he can see since two winged beings who are in a garden, protecting each other from the rain.

Unintentionally, a couple of tears run down his eyes and slide down his cheek, mistaking with the raindrops that completely soak him. They are not sign of sadness, they are tears of joy because he finally manages to see what had tormented him since even before he met Aziraphale, he manages to understand those thoughts that kept him awake at night and that were part of his dreams and nightmares.

For the first time he can see with total clarity what is in front of him, as if suddenly, the veil that had kept him in blind ignorance for so long had disappeared with a simple snap of his fingers, offering him a new and clear perspective of the stuff.

At that time, it seemed that the omnipotence had said: _"Let there be light."_

So it was.

He still didn't fully understand it, but still knew that he would enter the depths of the underworld to beg for the return of the angel who lived buried among his memories. Just as a man named Orpheus once asked Hades for his Eurydice.

Just like a demon named Crowley once asked Satan for his Aziraphale.


	5. 🞇 Losing your memory 🞇

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Do whatever you want with me, but not him, please..."_
> 
> _"Gabriel!"_
> 
> _What have you done?!_

* * *

Between gasps and murmurs that seemed almost like a plea, Crowley writhed in his bed as he clung to his sheets in an attempt to anchor himself to reality.

 _"A nightmare"_ anyone with brain would have said, and it wasn't common for him to have them, but when he did, they seemed capable of demolishing any hint of his sanity or mental health.

"No... please..." he tremulously pleaded with the figures that appeared to him in dreams and inflicted great pain on him that seemed to completely subject him to their will.

_"Do whatever you want with me, but not him, please..."_

_"Gabriel!"_

_"What have you done?!"_

That last torment felt like a slap followed by a bucket of cold water that woke him up in the middle of the darkness of his wide room where only the exasperated heartbeats resonated trying to regulate themselves with the redhead's exalted breathing.

Running a hand over his face, covered in a thin layer of sweat, he wondered how since those memories returned to his mind (or rather, were reborn) his nightmares had become more regular to the point of being almost tangible, like if they had been lived and not a dream formed from his ingenious imagination.

Commonly, he would get up and go for a walk through the streets of London, bathed in the darkness, but given the current situation, going outside without a more credible justification than _"A very real nightmare"_ was a reason for an admonishment that he didn't plan to include in his little but still important criminal record.

So, being his other option to go crazy trapped among four walls, he went to the only place where he could go out for fresh air without being a basic necessity, the balcony, which had become a place for a few weeks of meditation.

The first thing he did, as usual, was to let out a sigh while he let the night breeze hit his face as if it were soft caresses that tried to comfort him.

He massaged his temples as despair, his faithful companion, washed over him and his head asked himself a lot of questions, from the well-grounded to the most frivolous, all in an attempt to find answers.

What? How? When? Where? Those were questions that seemed to lead him nowhere more than complete ignorance.

He brought his gaze to the opposite balcony, where calm and calm seemed to reign while his mind was a revolution. There was no one and it seemed to him the best, he did not want to overwhelm Aziraphale with his nonsense and memories taken from a cheap mystery novel, which, although now they were totally clear but still didn't help him see clearly the reality.

He had a bunch of puzzle pieces in front of him, but no idea how to start putting it together.

He looked up at the sky, demanding an answer from the stars that only blinked intermittently as they mocked him.

"Thanks for nothing." He muttered reluctantly. Ever since he could remember he had always felt a certain dislike for the sky, more exactly, the concept of heaven. The simple talk of heaven as a kind of post-mortem paradise caused the most mocking laughs of his part. He simply considered heaven the place where all the hypocrites and liars lived. While they were ruled by the main head, God, who was not as benevolent or giving as they wanted to make-believe.

He would have continued his tirade against the celestial if it were not because he suddenly stiffened and clung to the balcony rail as he howled a groan of pain and as he had been going for the past few days, another series of memories flooded his mind.

_He groaned in pain as he fell to his knees on the pristine floor of the sky and in a useless threat of getting up he could see how his face of impotence and sincere fear was scoffingly reflected in the diaphanous surface below him._

_Still kneeling on the ground, he squirmed, seeking to mundanely rid himself of the restraining restraints._

_He was failing, and the violet gaze hovering over him only reminded him._

_"Bastard," he spat furiously at the archangel in front of him, but the gag that covered his mouth meant that he could only let out a couple of groans full of hate and frustration alike._

_Any show of insubordination didn't seem to intimidate the messenger of God, who, showing the power he now had over the demon, took him tightly by the chin, forcing him to keep his eyes on the being he most despised in the world._

_"How?" He asked as he increased the force with which he held the demon's chin. "How could a demon and a traitor fooling us for so long?"_

_Crowley, naturally, couldn't answer the questioning, so the archangel removed the gag from his mouth. The demon did what any of its kind would do in situations like that, spit at the archangel._

_"Fuck you, Gabriel!" He shouted and was not even daunted by the mad hatred and contempt grimace of the other._

_"Crowley!" Exclaimed a voice and the demon didn't have to strain his eyes too much to find Aziraphale on the other side of the huge room in the same or worse conditions than he._

_"Angel..." he murmured with consternation, only there he dared to lower himself before the archangel Gabriel. "Do whatever you want with me, but not him, please ..._

_A hint of something like madness showed in the archangel's gaze. "Let go of the traitor, of course," he said sarcastically. "This is worthy of punishment."_

_"Aziraphale!" The demon yelled desperately, ignoring the threat of the being in front of him. "Aziraphale!" Answer me, bastard angel!_

_"Crowley!" The angel managed to respond before receiving another blow that was added to the series of bruises that were now on his face._

_Crowley stifled a groan of pain and with the bile writhing in anger he turned his gaze to Gabriel and pleaded with teary eyes. "Do whatever you want with me, but not Aziraphale..."_

_Gabriel let out a troubled giggle as an almost maniacal expression settled on his face. "You don't understand, do you? If I kill him, I kill you."_

_Crowley resisted the urge to ask him how he had come to such a nutty but true conclusion when an unpleasant sensation crossed his entire body._

_"Fire" was the first word that came to his mind and it was there that he got rid of the archangel's grasp and with awkward movements, he tried to head towards the angel to save him from that ominous punishment prepared for him, or at least, that was what which he tried to do before a sharp sensation pricked his chest._

_"Stop there, demon!" Gabriel said imperatively. Crowley looked down and realized that the messenger of God was carrying Aziraphale's sword and holding it threateningly against his chest. "One more move and I'll have to have to take other actions with you."_

_Crowley gasped as he watched the fire continue to dangerously close to his angel, who, despite everything, maintained his temper while pleading with his eyes not to make any other thing._

_It was in the midst of despair that, for the first and last time, Crowley decided to plead with God, hoping that he would decide not to turn his back on him and answer his prayers._

_And that was the first time in centuries that God heard the demon Crowley._

A strange sensation ran through him from head to toe, completely tensing him as a previously diffuse memory appeared in his head and now, with total clarity, he managed to find answers to half of the unknowns that surrounded his life.

As if it were anyone who had lost the thread of his favorite soap opera, he closed his eyes again and made the gears of his mind work, evoking in his mind again that thundering memory.

_"What is all this about, Gabriel?" Asked the Almighty, perplexed, who had contained all her power in the body of a thirty-year-old blonde woman, but whose aura radiated respect and authority. An authority that Gabriel didn't seem to be aware of, remaining in a choleric state that did not make him see beyond his nose._

_"They have to pay." Replied the archangel with a twisted sense of pride._

_"But not like this, Gabriel." The woman said as she cautiously approached her messenger. "Madness is consuming you, my dear." If someone had been aware of the movements of the Almighty, surely they would have noticed the break in her voice._

_It was there that the mistake that changed the course of the fateful history was made, when the demon Crowley, taking advantage of the fact that the woman was taming to the violet-eyed archangel, managed to get up and went quickly to the blonde who was on the edge of disembodiment and death._

_Or at least, that's what he tried, before he felt the cold metal of the sword blade dig deep into his chest._

_The next thing that happened was a series of shocking events from which he only collected a few disconnected memories._

_"Gabriel! What you have done?!" The heartbreaking cry of a mother who nearly broke his eardrums._

_The flames mercilessly consumed Aziraphale's body until it was reduced to ashes._

_His own body already cold falling to the ground._

_Sharp pain shooting through his head._

_An insufferable smell of sulfur that covered the room._

_And finally, Aziraphale's screams that would echo in his soul for eternity._

He could almost feel the heavenly sword pierced his chest when he woke up from that nightmare.

He compulsively groped his chest and remembered that underneath all his dark shirts there was always a pale scar in the middle of his chest. _"A birthmark"_ was what he said, but it turned out that there was a deeper meaning behind that scar.

"Crowley," called a voice, which, like a heavenly call, brought him out of his neurasthenic musings. The angel he lost in his nightmares was now before him, completely real and tangible. "Did you have a nightmare?" He asked with a sympathetic smile.

The redhead just nodded awkwardly as he couldn't muster the strength necessary to utter any word.

"Crowley, are you all right?" The blond questioned again when he saw the lost gaze of his partner on the balcony.

Crowley, being the victim of an impulse beyond his control, instead of responding, dangerously approached the edge of the balcony and taking Aziraphale's face, he brought his lips to his own and planted a kiss that would have made the romances of the novels pale.

And again, the city's weather was capricious and a new rain fell and completely soaked them, not caring in the least.

The stars, hidden by the night clouds, shone in celebration of that feat that was more spectacular than it seemed.

Meanwhile, somewhere else in London, in a small place that seemed invisible to the eyes of mortals, an unfamiliar Jane Smith smiled victoriously as the cards began to play in her favor


End file.
